


Wrapping

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Crossdressing Kink, Dom/sub, Dominance, Harry Potter Next Generation, M/M, Sibling Incest, Submission, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 00:16:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lysander enjoys a very special Christmas morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrapping

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

A stray sunbeam is the culprit. Lysander’s eyes are opened involuntarily, and he shakes his head to try and get it out. The sun, that is. Then he rolls over and wonders what happened to his curtains.

Actually, he’s curious. He lifts up on one elbow and squints across the tiny, messy room, to the large glass window on the slanted far wall. At the top and side of the house, Lysander’s room isn’t shaped like the square it should be.

His curtains are in a pile on the floor, with Maggie the Pygmy Puff chewing on the scotch tape that previously held them up. Well, that’s what he gets for using silly Muggle solutions in a silly nonsensical house. Lysander briefly considers chucking his pillow at Maggie before deciding that won’t actually accomplish anything, other than working further against his karma.

Although technically it’s already Christmas, so his presents have already been delivered, and he doesn’t have to worry about karma for another three hundred and sixty-four days.

Stretching languidly, Lysander falls back into bed and rolls over. It feels like the brink of dawn, and his parents won’t be back until late noon. They’re searching for the rare Crumple-Horned Snorkack, which apparently is less elusive during holidays. (That or they’re just making up excuses to go fuck in the woods, but Lysander doesn’t want to think about that.)

Thinking of fucking, Lysander lifts his head up again to peer across his bed.

Then he flips over and stares at the other side. It’s similarly empty. Well, except for his blankets.

Because he’s lazy and he shouldn’t have to get up early on Christmas, Lysander shouts, “Lorcan!” loudly at his closed door. The door, perhaps expectedly, says nothing back. Lysander waits a few minutes anyway, just staring at it from his pillows.

Eventually it’s nudged open by a bright-red, barely covered ass, lined in fluffy white trim.

Lorcan backs into the room, carefully carrying a tray, and he uses his feet (wrapped in sparkling, bright red high-heels) to close the door behind him.

Then he turns and smiles brightly at Lysander, chirping, “Happy Christmas.”

Lysander sits up slowly and absolutely _ogles_ his brother.

To match the pumps, Lorcan is wearing a skin-tight red mini-dress that barely covers his crotch and dips across his chest, with off-the shoulder long-sleeves. The top of his thighs and wrists end in white puffs, which also matches the Santa hat slipped over his blond head. Every one of his lithe curves is on display and his bare legs are completely shaven. The tray he holds contains a clear glass of what’s either milk or eggnog and a plate of what smells like gingerbread cookies.

“I baked them for you,” Lorcan beams, with eyes that seem to ask, ‘Did I do okay?’

Lysander has to pick his jaw back up from the mattress and says rather inelegantly, “Holy shit, Lor.”

Lorcan shrugs cutely. “Mum and Dad shouldn’t be back for a while, so I figured... maybe we could play Santa? Er, you being Santa, of course, and I’ll sit in your lap. I’m Mrs. Clause.” Lorcan moves one hand to his hips and strikes a preening pose.

Lysander might be drooling. He wipes his mouth just in case and shuffles back into the headboard, sitting up straighter. He throws the blankets aside and pats his boxers eagerly—the only thing he wears for pajamas.

Lorcan places the tray on the nightstand. Their bed is only a double, and it’ll still be in arm’s reach, especially with Lysander sitting squarely in the middle. Lorcan adjusts his skirt and crawls forward onto the bed. As soon as he’s straddling Lysander’s waist, Lysander grabs his hips and jerks him forward. Lorcan’s hands shoot to Lysander’s shoulders, steadying himself and eliciting a giggle.

“Aren’t we eager,” he smirks.

Lysander leans up to kiss the smirk away and doesn’t manage to be chaste about it. He slips his hands around Lorcan’s waist to squeeze his twin’s rear and delights in the moan it earns him. He holds Lorcan’s crotch against his own and ruts shallowly into it, while he slips his tongue between Lorcan’s lips. Lorcan parts them obediently and puts his tongue flat down like a puppy, giving Lysander more access. Lysander explores every familiar centimeter, and every millimeter goes straight to his crotch. Lorcan tastes delicious and faintly of eggnog. Lorcan smells like their lavender shampoo, with maybe a hint of arousal underneath.

Lysander only stops when he has to ask, “Are you wearing panties?”

“You’re an animal,” Lorcan giggles.

Lysander only quirks an eyebrow and squeezes Lorcan’s ass cheeks harder.

Lorcan makes a scrumptious gasping sound and whimpers, “No, a thong.”

Lysander smiles approvingly.

“You were supposed to wait until after cookies, though,” Lorcan pouts.

“Nope,” Lysander purrs, as he rolls up the hem of Lorcan’s short dress. He hikes it all the way up around Lorcan’s waist, although it would’ve only taken a few centimeters to reveal everything. Lorcan’s (already half hard) cock is tucked inside a very, very tiny, sheer black thong, the string sides of which are tied in little bows. Lysander smirks at the view. “I think I’d rather unwrap my present now.”

Lorcan bites his bottom lip coyly, cooing, “The cookies were your present.”

Grinning possessively, Lysander rubs one hand over the front of Lorcan’s thong, making his twin arch and moan quietly. “What about this?” he wonders and continues to palm the area.

Lorcan’s eyes are fluttering closed, and he whispers, “You already own that.”

Lysander’s grin couldn’t get any wider if he swallowed the sun itself. He rewards Lorcan’s cleverness with another deep kiss, luxurious and full. Lorcan always kisses him back so happily, so eagerly, and even when Lysander’s trying to be slow and measured, he ends up fervent and passionate. It’s hard to hold Lorcan without absolutely ravishing him, and that’s exactly what Lysander intends to do.

His hands slip to Lorcan’s sides, and he easily undoes the two bows, glad he doesn’t have to rip the thong to remove it fast enough. He grabs a handful of thin fabric in the front and pulls it off Lorcan’s quivering thighs in one tug. Lorcan’s cock instantly springs out against his wrist, pink and already slightly leaking. Lysander tosses the slinky material aside and grabs hold of Lorcan’s hips again, firm enough to make Lorcan gasp.

Unable to wait, Lysander sacrifices one hand again to shove down his own boxers, just enough to pull himself out. His dick is exactly the same as Lorcan’s, every bump and every vein, and that only makes it more exquisite when they slide against one another. Lorcan finally breaks composure, and he starts grinding into Lysander with abandon. He whimpers when Lysander’s grip limits the movement.

Lysander kisses Lorcan again to make up for it and to stifle the adorable whimpers. He tilts his head and they feverishly make out like the horny teenagers they are, while he slips his fingers between his brother’s crack. For a moment, he just fingers the sensitive flesh. Lorcan has a great ass—pert, and round, and perfect. It turns pink so fast when spanked and warms so easily. Lysander finds Lorcan’s puckered hole and grins into his twin’s mouth when he finds it already wet.

Lorcan breaks the kiss to whisper against Lysander’s cheek, “I readied myself for you, brother.” He presses erotically back into Lysander’s finger and purrs submissively, “Please fuck me?”

A shiver runs straight down Lysander’s spine. How is he supposed to resist something like that? His cock is already impossibly hard between them, and rubbing against Lorcan only makes that better. Lysander pushes one finger into Lorcan’s furrowed hole, just to be safe, and moans when he finds it open and ready, warm and slick. As soon as he’s in, Lorcan smiles, and Lysander adds another with quick ease. He scissors Lorcan for the sake of it, probing and teasing, and after a minute, Lorcan whimpers, “Lys, no...” 

“No?” Lysander croons, fingering his brother gently and rubbing their cocks together. Lorcan tries to sit up, tries to bounce up and down on Lysander’s fingers, fucking himself. But Lysander grabs Lorcan’s thigh and shoves him down after a few thrusts. Lorcan looks so put out he might cry, or so desperate. His cheeks are flushed and his gorgeous cobalt eyes are half-lidded, mouth open to pant. Lysander nuzzles into his cheek and growls, “Are you telling me what to do with my present?”

“’Not your present,” Lorcan mumbles. He tries to sit up again, to make Lysander’s fingers go deeper. Lysander holds him firm, and Lorcan whines, “’Just yours. Always yours.” His lashes flutter imploringly, and he slips his hands down from Lysander’s shoulders, all the way across Lysander’s bare stomach to tug at his dick. Lorcan squeezes it gently, and Lysander bites back a moan. Lorcan’s the hottest thing in the world when he begs quietly, “Fuck me with your cock, please.”

Lysander likes to tease. But if he doesn’t get a move on this time he’s going to come in his brother’s hand. And he can’t deny Lorcan. Not today, anyway. After everything Lorcan’s done to make sure he starts Christmas right, he can at least return the favour. So he pulls his fingers out, enjoying Lorcan’s shallow gasp.

Then he picks Lorcan up easily by the hips—Lorcan’s hands dart back to Lysander’s shoulders. They’re both lithe, both light, but Lorcan’s a little smaller, and Lysander moves his brother’s hovering body over his cock, adjusting until he can feel that tight ring of muscles nudge around the head of his dick. Lorcan cutely scrunches his face up in preparation, hunching his shoulders.

Lysander has to take a second to admire that, before shoving Lorcan down onto his cock. It shoots up inside Lorcan’s greedy hole in one fast movement, and Lorcan lets out a beautiful squeal-moan, tossing his head back. The Santa hat topples off, and his blond hair is ruffled and messy, and his lips are swollen and wet, and his dress dips low over his chest, almost enough for Lysander to see his dusty pink nipples. Lysander holds Lorcan down for a few moments to adjust, and Lorcan wriggles impatiently on his lap, making it better and worse. Even with the preparation, Lorcan’s still tight as hell, just like he always is. His walls clench greedily around Lysander, pulsing and hot. Lorcan’s dick is pressing into Lysander’s stomach, smearing a few drops of precum into his naval.

When he regains partial ability to think straight, Lysander picks Lorcan up, almost all the way, and slams him brutally back down. There’s a loud slapping noise, and he does it again, gripping Lorcan so tight he’s worried he might rip the dress. Which would be a shame, because this is definitely something that should become a Christmas tradition. He pulls Lorcan up and down like a limp sex-doll, and Lorcan subserviently takes it, letting his body be used and manipulated. Lysander knows when he’s found that special spot, because Lorcan arches suddenly and cries out, clutching Lysander’s shoulders tight enough to bruise. Lorcan ducks forward for a messy, hungry kiss, and Lysander headily tries to keep up.

When their lips part, he growls, “You do it,” because he’s decided he needs his hands for other things. He grabs Lorcan’s cock and holds it up in the air, and Lorcan mewls prettily, lifting up on his knees to slide more into Lysander’s fist. He falls back down and picks up again, and Lysander holds his fingers just too high—making Lorcan do all the work, and forcing him to essentially fuck himself on Lysander’s cock to get a hand job. Lorcan does it with a smile.

Lorcan makes the cutest expressions when he’s getting fucked. He makes the hottest noises, and every hitched breath goes straight to Lysander’s groin. Lorcan bounces up and down in Lysander’s lap, glowing with just a little sweat, his fringe sticking to his forehead. He impales himself over and over, and Lysander has to press three different kisses to the corners of his mouth before Lorcan wakes up enough to return an open-mouthed one. He’s in a trance, like Lysander, thick-headed with a dry throat and boiling blood. The pressure around Lysander’s cock is exquisite, the tight burn and the squeeze of Lorcan’s muscles prickles his skin with sweat, and it makes his lungs gulp for more air. He devours Lorcan’s mouth with the force of a pitbull, and he shifts one hand to loop around Lorcan’s thin waist, pulling him in impossibly tight. Lorcan’s velvety dress is smooth against his skin, and the fluffed trim tickles, and Lorcan’s tongue tastes like all of Lysander’s favourite things.

“L-lys...” Lorcan gasps mid-kiss, sloppy and warm. “I...I’m going to... ah...”

It’s not fast enough. It’s hot enough, with Lorcan fucking himself on Lysander’s cock, but Lysander wants more. He suddenly lunges forward, knocking Lorcan back into the mattress. He keeps his dick fully sheathed in his brother, and Lorcan squeaks, and his legs wrap around Lysander’s waist, the heels digging into the small of his back. Lysander towers over his brother. His hands have moved to steady himself in the mattress atop Lorcan, one hand to either side of his gorgeous face. Lorcan clutches at Lysander’s shoulders. His cock bounces between them—Lysander doesn’t stop.

He quickens the pace, and he goes harder. He takes control again and rams into Lorcan’s tight body, slamming inside with such force that the bed rocks. It loudly slams into the wall on each go, harsh and rough, every thrust flattening Lorcan into the mattress. It’s brutal and he grabs’ Lorcan’s dick, and one stroke and it’s over. Lorcan shrieks, “Lysander!” and explodes in his hand, spraying all over the dress and his stomach. Lorcan’s ass spasms beautifully around Lysander’s cock, and it reverberates back through Lysander’s whole body, setting off every module of pleasure he has. It fogs his brain and rocks his core, and he kisses Lorcan so hard that he’s probably giving poor Lorcan a headache. He keeps slamming inside and comes with blinding intensity. He rides it out, milking every last drop into Lorcan’s small body. He wants to fuck Lorcan into the ground for the rest of his life.

But when the orgasm’s over, he collapses. He drops heavily on top of Lorcan, still buried to the hilt, and Lorcan, “Oomph!”s with the hit.

Lysander pants to get his breath back. He can feel Lorcan’s chest rising and falling just as frantically. There’s a buzzing in his head that echoes right down to his stomach, and he feels wonderfully blissful. He feels both light as a feather and roped down by gravity, and Lorcan’s impossibly warm beneath him.

Lorcan’s white trim is pressing into his stomach. Lysander sighs and lifts up a little to look down. Then he collapses back and mutters, “You ruined the dress, you filthy thing.” And he kisses Lorcan’s cheek lovingly. Lorcan giggles.

“It’s my dress; I can come on it if I want.”

Lysander bites at Lorcan’s neck and insists, “Nope, it’s my Christmas present, and I demand you lick it clean.”

“Why?” Lorcan purrs, and he stretches under Lysander, stiff and yawning. “It’s my cum, not yours.”

“We’re twins,” Lysander reminds him. “It’s the same thing.” And he smiles cheekily. Because he knows he can get his way if he just does it. Lysander lifts up on his elbow and reaches between them, swiping some of the mess off Lorcan’s stomach. He raises a coated finger to Lorcan’s lips, and Lorcan obediently parts them to suck in Lysander’s finger. He licks at it like a kitten with milk, eyes watching Lysander the whole time.

Then something slams downstairs. The door. A muffled “Happy Christmas!” shouts up through the floor, and it sounds like Dad.

Lysander pulls out his finger with a heavy sigh. He begrudging sits up, slipping off his brother, and Lorcan sits up too and tugs his dress back down. There’s a stain in the sheets where his ass was, and a bit of Lysander’s cum still dribbles down his cheeks. “I’d better change,” Lorcan mumbles.

“But you’ll put it back on later.”

Lorcan turns to smile, “Of course.”

“Good,” Lysander grins back. “It should go with my present for you.”

Lorcan’s eyes light up instantly, and he stops fluffing out his hat. “Ooh, what’s my present?”

“You’ll see later,” Lysander winks, and reaches out to help readjust the hat.

Footsteps sound up the stairs, and Lysander decides they don’t have time to get dressed yet. He scoops Lorcan up and tugs him back into the bed, throwing his blanket over them just in time. The door opens and Mum pokes her head in. “Happy Christmas!” she tells them brightly.

Lysander’s still hugging Lorcan, but with their bodies covered, it looks more innocent. He chirps, “Good morning,” at the exact same time Lorcan asks, “Did you find it?”

“Nope,” Dad says, poking his head in behind her. “But there’s always next year. Anyway, it’s Christmas time now—you boys get dressed and come downstairs, and you can open your stockings.”

They close the door and leave, and Lorcan sighs dreamily, “Ooh, stockings, I forgot about those.”

“I already stuffed yours,” Lysander quips, and Lorcan laughs happily in his arms.


End file.
